New Beginnings
by Anastasia Athene
Summary: This is the sequel to Quiet...Literati...


**A/N: This is a sequel, or the second chapter, I guess you could call it, to Quiet. I know it took forever, but I've been really busy with the school play and school in general. I've also been working on the third & fourth chapters of this little series. Their tentative titles are called Mother and Jess and Interlude,  and I'm trying to get them finished by Christmas…we'll see if that works out. Oh well. I really wanted to write a Christmas Literati story, hopefully part of this series, but I don't think so. Maybe New Years. Anyway, this A/N is getting way too long. Enjoy the second installment!**

New Beginnings

I sneak back in the house and fall back asleep; it's almost noon when I wake up again. I tell Mom what happened, and she's obviously not pleased with my sneaking out of the house at four in the morning, but she doesn't really dwell on it. She instead dwells on the fact that I have to let Dean go. And soon. I agree with her, so I rehearse it in my head, in front of my mirror, with Mom—and she doesn't do the voice this time. In fact, she's completely serious--for once--and she gives me a sad smile. 

            "I'm sorry, honey. You knew it wasn't going to last forever."

            She's right. It wasn't going to last forever. Who am I kidding? It barely lasted two years…but two years seems like forever when you're only seventeen with your first love, a first love who really cared, a first love who you cared about…a first love you never meant to hurt.

            I slip into my sandals and let the door close behind me.

            I walk into town; I'm not exactly rushing, but I'm not stalling either. Should I? Should I be rushing, so I can get this over with? Or should I be stalling, clinging to the last minutes of my first love? The truth is, I'm not sure. The one thing I am sure about is that it really is over. It was nice, it was sweet, but nothing extreme…and I'm ready to move on. It's not like I didn't have fun while it lasted—he loved me, I loved him. We talked. We joked. We hit snags. We managed to get out of them. It was the typical high school relationship. 

            But I've realized I don't want a typical relationship. Nothing else in my life is typical, so why start now? I want excitement. I want to discuss Salinger and Ayn Rand, metaphors and allegories, the more subtle differences between paperbacks and hardbounds. I want to argue over literary devices and how Hemingway is boring (he is.) I want to find that line between friends and lovers…maybe I already have. I can't do all those things with Dean, and it makes me feel a little guilty. But I can't let him go on thinking I can. 

I look in the window of the market. He's there, stocking the top shelf (what else?) with cornstarch, ironically enough. I laugh, a little sadly. Our relationship will begin and end with cornstarch. I push open the door and walk over, tapping him lightly on his shoulder.

            I greet him, not cheerfully, but not rudely, either. His face spreads into a grin, and I feel that guilt again. Before he can lean down to kiss me, I speak.

            "Um…when's your break, Dean?" He gives me a slightly confused look. 

            "In about ten minutes. Why?" I look up at the cornstarch and sigh.

            "I need to talk to you. Can you meet me in the gazebo?" He nods, and I give him a small smile. "Thanks." I walk out and sit on the bench in the little gazebo, staring out over the town. They all pass me by, oblivious as to what's going on, what's going to happen. Soon, ten minutes have passed and he walks up the gazebo steps.

            "Rory?"

            "Dean. Can you sit down?"

            I'll spare the unnecessary details of the actual split; it went as expected. His face fell, and I felt the guilt again, but I told him that it wouldn't be fair to him. He was silent for a moment, then asked, "It's because of him, isn't it?" I had sighed and looked away.

            "I'm not going to lie to you. It's partly because of him. But don't make it out to be all his fault. It's not anyone's fault, Dean. I just don't feel it anymore." I looked him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry."

            After two more apologies (one from him and one from me) he gives a small, rueful smile and gets up. I stand, too, and he hugs me tight. I hug him back, and he steps back, onto the second step. For the first time, I'm taller—higher—than him. On a different level. I guess I have been for a long time. It just took me this long to realize it.

            "I'll miss you, Rory." he says, giving me one last look as he turns back towards the market. I stare after him, feeling my shoulders—and heart—get lighter. I start walking to the diner.

            You're inside wiping down the counter as I push open the door. You glance up when the bell jingles, and a million emotions cross your face in a split second: yearning, sympathy, feigned indifference, happiness. You don't let on anything to the general public, though. A small smirk just graces your face and you lean on the counter as I come up. 

"Hey, I heard about you and Dean," you say, mock-sympathetic, handing me a cup of coffee. "Sorry." My jaw drops.

            "How did you—it was only a minute ago—when—?" You laugh a little at my stutter and gesture to the table by the window (table 5), where Miss Patty is sitting with Babette. My jaw drops some more. "I know news travels fast in Stars Hollow, but I didn't know it was that fast." You laugh again and tap my chin with your finger. I close my mouth as Babette calls across the room. 

            "Rory, sweetie, are you all right?" she asks. I smile.

            "I'm fine, Babette. Really." And it's the truth. I mean, last time I broke up with Dean, I was really upset. Now…now I feel…well, I don't know what I feel, but it's definitely not upset. More like…indifferent, maybe? Like I had expected it. Even though it kind of took me by surprise. Hm. I decide to think about it later and turn back to the situation at hand. Miss Patty gives me a knowing look and a wink.

            "You'll find another man in no time, Rory. With a face as pretty as yours…in fact, there's a handsome little devil here in Stars Hollow that would be perfect for you. He works here in the diner…lives with his uncle." She winks at you, too. I blush and then laugh, because you've got this squirmy look on your face. 

            "I'll walk you home," you say shortly, fairly pushing me out the door. I turn to you, a teasing grin on my face.

            "You know, seeing you squirm will never get old." You narrow your eyes.

            "I'm so glad you think it's funny." you grumble, then sigh. "Can I ask you something? You and Dean breaking up…was it because of me?"

            "Aren't we the little egotist?" I try to make it a joke, but your serious look doesn't change. My vision then focuses on some faraway landmark. "Yes…no. Maybe. Both." I sigh. "Partly. Lots of different reasons, I guess." 

            "Oh." you say simply, a somewhat surprised look on your face. We walk in a comfortably awkward silence until we're on the front porch, me staring into my empty coffee cup and you staring at the floor.

            "Well…I'll probably see you later. I mean, Mom and I always end up eating dinner at Luke's anyway…uh…" I'm feeling a little awkward, since I don't know how to segue into what I really want to say. You don't seem to notice.

            "Yeah…oh…Speaking of your mom, uh--here. I meant to give it to you last night—or this morning, whatever you want to call it—but I forgot." I glance at the title and almost laugh out loud.

"The Pocket Dictionary of Diner Slang? Oh, my God, Jess. Where did you find this?" You squirm a little, but give a crooked smile.

            "Used bookstore right inside Times Square. It was right after you left. I was looking for a paperback copy of _The Old Man and the Sea_,"—I make a face— "and I came across this in one of the back shelves. I figure you could give it to your mom for her birthday, or Christmas, or something…"

            "Oh, Jess. I…wow. I don't know what to say…except…why would you do this? I mean, buy a book for my mother, of all people." You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant.

            "I figure it could give me brownie points, you know? And I don't know…I guess I just…don't feel like hating her that much anymore. It's a lot of effort to like a girl and hate her mother-slash-best friend. Too much to deal with…so…" 

You don't finish, because I throw my arms around your neck and kiss you soundly. I think I caught you off guard (again); it takes you a couple seconds to respond, but I don't run away this time, letting you tenderly cradle my face in your hands.

            We break apart, smiling at each other. Comfortable silence falls for a moment, then the door swings open.

            "Rory! Beautiful daughter, I—oh." She looks at you warily. "Jess." You glance down at her hands.         

            "No darts today?" I give you a look, and so does she. "Never mind. I'll see you later, Rory. Bye, Ms. Gilmore."

            Mom takes a deep breath and suddenly says (to my surprise), "Um, Jess, do you want something to eat? Or drink? We have…well, we have water…and an entire gourmet meal in the fridge right now, really. I'm serious. It's just sitting there, in the fridge, being all huge, and uh…gourmet…and…well, what do you say?" She's trying too hard, I know, and you smirk a little. 

            "No thanks, Ms. Gilmore. I'm pretty sure we have Pop-Tarts at the diner." She looks surprised for a moment—probably because you spoke a civil sentence to her—and then turns to me, an indignant look on her face.

 "You told him our secret." She says accusingly. "Now we'll never be able to take over the world." You just shake your head and turn to leave.

"Bye, Rory, Ms. Gilmore."

"Jess! By the way, I will murder you if you—" I cringe, expecting some lecture about getting me pregnant. But Mom completely shocks me (and you, I think.) "—if you call me Ms. Gilmore again. I'm not my mother—call me Lorelai." You smile a little and nod, striding down the driveway and into the sunny streets. I look at Mom, a huge smile on my face.

            "Aw, Mom. You softie. You're giving Jess another chance!" I can't help how excited I am, and throw my arms around her. She laughs a little, and hugs me back.

            "You owe me. Big. Like, control of the remote for a month." I just nod and grin stupidly, and she looks surprised. "Seriously? Cool. All right, then. We're watching Trading Spaces and making fun of the peoples' houses." I grin.

            "And drooling over Ty Pennington?" 

            "Of course. Hey, what's that?" she asks, noticing the book in my hand. I hand it to her, a smile still on my face.

            "It's for you."

            "Ooh, a present! Let's see…_The Pocket Dictionary of Diner Slang_. Oh, my God! Where did you find this? This is awesome! Do you know how annoyed Luke will be?"

            "I can only imagine." She laughs.

            "No, seriously. Where'd you find this?"  

            "Uh, well, Jess got it for you." She laughs. "I'm not joking, Mom. He found it in a bookstore in New York and bought it…for you." Her left eyebrow quirks, and she just makes a small noise, something like, "Huh."

            "Huh, what?" I ask. She mumbles something, turning towards the door. I give her a look. "I'm sorry, what was that, Ozzy?"

            She sighs. "I said, I guess he's not so bad after all. There. You made me say it out loud. Are you happy now?"

            "Yeah." I laugh. "You're such a softie. Pillow soft. No—marshmallow soft. Feather soft. In fact—" 

            "Stop! Or no hot carpenter guy! We'll just have to watch…oh, I don't know, but it will be really bad. Like golf. There's always a golf show on somewhere."

            "Noo!" I cry, trying to escape off the porch, but she's too quick. Grabbing my arm, she pulls me in the front door, and laughing, we both collapse on the couch.

            "Seriously, Mom. Thanks." She smiles and ruffles my hair.

            "No problem, babe. Now shush. Hot Carpenter Guy on TV. No more talky."

            I just laugh and settle back to watch Trading Spaces with my crazy mother, looking forward to dinner tonight.

** A/N: There is no book The Pocket Dictionary of Diner Slang (or at least I don't think there is…) I just made it up. Okay, then. Read & Review!! Oh, and Happy Holidays to everyone (just in case that Christmas story doesn't get written…)**


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